On the Streets
by GeorgeCantWrite
Summary: Clint Barton has been homeless for quite some time and has honestly gotten used to it. And then Pietro Maximoff becomes homeless too and soon joins him. (Rated M for language and themes.)
1. Chapter 1

Clint was used to the cold, used to the old clothes that barely kept him warm and was used to the alleys he often had to sleep in.

He was even used to the people who gave him filthy looks for being homeless.

But he wasn't used to Pietro Maximoff.

The young man had appeared in one of the usually alleys, looking beaten up and tired. No-one batted an eyelash at him, all of them having been used to seeing someone come in and join them at being homeless. What caught Clint's eye about Pietro was the fact his hair was _silver_. It was a little strange to say the least.

(It even looked natural.)

Pietro kept his eyes on the floor, looking too wary and tired, but that made him look like he belonged. All he needed was to have dirt smudges on his face and clothes and have them become tattered messes and then he'd truly look like he belonged with the homeless.

"You OK, kid?" Clint asked when Pietro dropped his bag close to him and his belongings.

Pietro didn't answer, instead pulling out a quilt and pulled it over him, hiding his face in the soft quilt.

Clint sighed but turned his attention to the stray dog everyone had gotten accustomed to seeing. The dog had a limp and was missing an eye, but was still fighting. Clint called him Lucky.

Whatever, he'd probably try again the next day, and the next and the next, if that's what it took for Pietro to open up. He needed to get Pietro to talk to him, so he would have a friend.

Or Pietro would get eaten alive by the savage people who walked this earth.


	2. Chapter 2

It took several days for Clint Barton to get Pietro Maximoff to talk to him.

He managed it. Eventually.

The homeless of that specific alley had been upturned from the owners of the shops on both sides, so had no other choice but to move and try and find somewhere they could stay for a few days. They would usually stay under a bridge, but since the authorities had gone down hard on the homeless, they had a hard time trying to find a place that could hold them for weeks at a time.

"Why are we moving?" Clint turned around to see Pietro frowning at him. His accent was thick and heavy and rolled over Clint like something he hadn't had in years.

"Authorities are bastards, so won't let us stay places for long. Also the shop owners aren't too pleased that we were staying there, so made us leave. Dick move, right?" Clint asked as Lucky plodded along next to him. Lucky was probably full of fleas, but none of them had the money to have Lucky cleaned up or taken care of properly. The least they could do for him however, was give him food, water and give him a place to sleep with them (even if it was a few feet away).

"Why are they like this?"

"Because they don't like us and think we take up space - which is a fair point, but it kinda sucks that they won't help us," Clint said with a shrug of his shoulders. Pietro gave him a strange look, one that Clint couldn't read; but Clint didn't question it, instead he turned his attention to the rest of the homeless and watched where they would be going.

"Faggot!"

Beside him, Pietro tensed up. Clint looked over at him discreetly and saw a gang of young men laughing at them.

"They're assholes because they think they're better than us," Clint murmured, being careful to not move his lips as much. Pietro made a noise that sounded hurt and scared and he shifted closer to Clint who didn't say anything.

"I knew them from school and college; they were always assholes," Pietro said, his accent as thick as before.

The young men continued to jeer at Pietro, though Pietro tried to pay them no mind.

"Just keep walking with us; they might not look it, but if they come at you, the others will kick the shit out of them," Clint said, trying to reassure the younger man.

"Thanks," Pietro said.

"Hey, fag!"

One of the young men had started to jog across the road towards them. Clint's face turned to that of which could resemble a resting bitch face, only more extreme. The young man got onto the pavement (or rather sidewalk since they were in America) and glanced over at Clint, and moved away slightly.

"Where you been, fag?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes on Pietro and avoiding Clint who was looking more and more intimidating - thank Nat for that. She could pull off the terrifying look effortlessly.

Pietro didn't answer the man who shoved Pietro's shoulder when he didn't reply.

"Hey, dickwad, leave him alone," Clint snapped, his voice full of authority he used to have. The man turned his gaze to Clint.

"Go sit down before you fall down, old man," he said and Clint raised an eyebrow, his expression reading 'bitch, please'.

"Listen here, sweetheart," Clint said and stepped towards the young man who realised just how muscled Clint was and how much taller he was. "Go take your privileged ass back to your fuckboy friends before I kick it back and make sure you know just how violent us fags can get if you try and fuck us over. I see you 'round here being a douchebag to those who don't quite have the same upperclass shit as you, I will wipe the fucking floor with you and let my dog eat the flesh off your bones all while you're still alive. Gottit?"

The man nodded, having turned pale and looked like he was about to turn his underwear and trousers brown.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Scram, asshat!"

He fucking ran.

Clint turned back to walking with the others who were smirking to themselves. Clint gave them a bright smile and they turned back to walk to wherever they had decided on the destination. Pietro was still in shock, but knocked himself out of it and ran up to Clint's side again.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that,"

"Of course I did. That bastard was callin' you a fag like he's fuckin' allowed to say that word. Besides, if what he says is true - us fags have gotta stick together, right?" Clint said with a slight raise of his right eyebrow. Pietro gaped at him, jaw all slack as he stared at Clint in shock.

"You'll get killed if people here you say that!"

"It's America, have an American Dream and all that patriotic bullshit. They allowed gay marriage, just as long as Trump and that Pence asshole don't fuck up, we'll be relatively OK. If not, we can leave the country and move to Canada because Canada is cool,"

"If Canada is so cool, why haven't you moved there?"

"Don't have the money to get a passport or anything that shows my real identity and don't have a plan for after I get there,"

"Why don't you make one?"

"Plans don't usually agree with me."

"I can relate to that."

"I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton,"

"Pietro Maximoff."

They continued to walk and fell into a strangely comfortable silence. Lucky was walking beside them, occasionally whining whenever he grew particularly hungry or thirsty; Pietro would see Clint pull out a water bottle or a dog treat and give part of it to Lucky who would perk up whenever Clint did this.

Eventually, they got to wherever they were meant to go, which turned out to be one of the small abandoned buildings behind one of the many huge factories.

"Looks, um, what is the word? Ominous?" Pietro said, almost making Clint jump.

"No-one apart from us lot go in there; everyone seems to forget about the place unless they want to graffiti it or try and trash it in general. It's pretty fun when you're in there and they come in and get the shit scared out of them." Clint said with half a shrug. Clint led Pietro in, the others following too.

They got to their usual rooms and settled down and Clint noticed how Pietro had set up barely a foot from him. He didn't say anything though; the kid looked like he needed the comfort and if it came in the form of Clint, then so be it. He didn't mind much either, since this would make it easier to watch out for the kid if anything bad happened.

"Anyone got any food?" Barbara, one of the oldest and shortest asked. She didn't look it, but she could kick your ass if you tried anything to either her or the others. She made sure the others were safe, which was nice of her and made it feel more like a family.

There were grumbles and the shaking of heads and she sighed.

"Clint?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Clint said and stood up. "Kid, you wanna join me?"

* * *

"Clint, I am cold, bored and tired," Pietro said, his teeth chattering as his body shook.

Clint sighed before pulling Pietro closer to him, wrapping his arms around the younger man. Pietro was shaking violently and Clint felt his heart ache.

"I know, just a few more minutes, OK? Then we can go and get some food," Clint reasoned and Pietro nodded. He sighed, rubbing his hands on Pietro's arm, trying to give the man some warmth.

They waited for some more people to be kind enough to give them some money, but their luck seemed to have ran out.

They got up and checked how much they had gotten and were surprised to see they had lucked out on having fifteen dollars. Clint smiled brightly up at Pietro, who was looking as happy he was feeling.

"Are we going to the dollar shop?" Pietro asked.

"Yeah, cheap food cheap drinks but it's food nonetheless." Clint answered, Pietro nodding as they made their way to the shop. They were tired, cold and hungry, but they had to get enough food so that everyone could eat and have some water.

"I wanted to thank you," Pietro said after walking for a few minutes in silence.

"Hm?"

"You and the others, you have allowed me to join you and you have taken me in, no questions asked,"

"Well, no-one really wants to talk about their reasons for being homeless for the first few weeks and we all know how difficult it is having to readjust to this shit life,"

"Maybe so, but I want to thank you for allowing me to join you,"

"Well then you're welcome," Clint said as they walked over to the small shop.

When they got in, the lights were bright and momentarily blinded them as they walked in. A few people shopping gave them a mix of sympathetic and disgusted looks. Clint had already gone past caring, but Pietro seemed to hide behind Clint.

"Don't worry," Clint said. "They'll not say anything while I'm here," he said, not saying the words he had wanted to say.

"Da, spasibo," Pietro murmured as they reached the tin can aisle. Pietro stayed silent as Clint picked out the different cans that could have for dinner. Pietro watched as he read the information on the cans - the dates they expired and the cost. Eventually, Clint finished and moved on to get some bottled water.

"This should be enough," Clint stated quietly as a man a few feet from them scoffed when he saw their dirty appearance. Clint turned around and gave the man his infamous resting bitch face. "Fuckin' jerkoff," Clint muttered before turning his attention to Pietro who gave him a light smile.

"Shall we - err - pay for those?"

"Yeah," Clint said.

They did so, and had about four dollars left to spare. They had to make the money last; they didn't know what amounts they would get over the next few weeks.

"How good is your English?" Clint asked as he and Pietro made their way back to the old building.

"Not too bad, but it could be better. We moved from my home - homeland? - Sokovia a few years ago, but we've been learning English ever since,"

"At least you're trying," Clint said. "I - um - I could teach you more if you want? I don't know how, but we could try?" Clint asked.

"Da - er, yes - I'd like that, sp-thank you," Pietro said, his cheeks tinged pink that wasn't from the cold wind. "I-I could teach you in return?"

"Sounds like a plan."


	3. Chapter 3

The food lasted them for a while. The group had been thankful that Clint and Pietro had managed to get money from the kinder people in the world. The place they had been staying in, however, didn't last as long.

The same people who had harassed Pietro had found out where they were residing. And set it on fire. They lost someone to the fire - Reggie his name had been. They mourned and forced themselves to move on, knowing they couldn't stay long; they were in danger of being killed themselves and they all knew they had no way of paying for any health care.

Stupid America.

Why couldn't it be like Britain? At least they had free health care.

"It is ... my fault," Pietro said slowly.

He had already lost count in how many days he had been with Clint and the others. Sometimes he regarded these times as the best times in his life, and sometimes he regarded them as the worst. It was a Clint Barton paradox, only it was Pietro Maximoff in the situation.

"What? No, it's not!" Clint exclaimed as much as he could from the heavy fatigue that was settling down on his shoulders.

"Da, it is," Pietro said, his eyes beginning to look too bright.

"Those pricks have been trailing us for a while and only attacked us because they wanted to get a jibe at you or some stupid shit. It ain't no way your fault. It's theirs."

"Clint's right," Barbara said, slowing down her pace to walk beside the two men who were both younger than her by decades. "Just because they see us as different - or rather vermin - they think it is right to try and get rid of us in whatever vile ways they can think of," she told him.

"But Reggie -"

"Pietro, darling, in all honesty, Reggie was dying anyway. He knew he only had a few weeks - maybe months - left, but was losing hope faster than you could say 'da' or whatever it is you say. He died long before that fire ever came to play. Now he's at rest. Now we mourn and now we move on and try to make sure those assholes never do any of that shit to any of us ever again. We might wander through, come and go like the day's light, but we sure as shit will look after each other, because in the end, who will? We all have our own troubles, reasons, for being homeless and being at the bottom of the barrel, but we will look after each other because we're somewhat decent, unlike some assholes," Barbara stated, crossing her elderly arms over her chest lightly.

"You are not what I expect, but it is good. You are like -" Pietro cut of, trying to find the right word. "- you are babushka to us, and are determined, yes?" He turned to Clint who nodded, confirming he said the right word. "- it is ... inspiring."

"Why thank you, Pietro. My, you know how to talk to the ladies,"

"Even though I prefer the men," he said with a sly look at Clint, who hadn't noticed. Barbara did and sent the younger man a smirk. She tutted at Clint who gave her a confused look which she either ignored or didn't notice, walking forwards to talk to one of the other elders, muttering a little stereotypically about young whippersnappers.

"She's fuckin' crazy," Clint said after a moment, turning his head to look at Pietro who was smiling - actually smiling.

"I like her. She is funny, no?"

"Of course you'd like her," Clint muttered to himself, jamming his hands into his armpits, trying to warm them up. "Come on, shake a leg, we gotta get some place to sleep before it gets dark."

* * *

They did eventually find somewhere to lay low, but it didn't help that Pietro was on edge. He was jumpy and looked close to having either a panic attack or an anxiety attack. Maybe both.

Clint had taken to talking to him the most, the others in their group letting them get on with whatever it was they did. It wasn't like they cared if Clint or Pietro were gay or ended up forming some form of romantic relationship. What mattered was that they would all stay together and get through the cold, the warm and the rain and whatever bullshit life decided to throw at them because that was what friends did.

"My sister," Pietro admitted after the fourth night in their newly taken home. Clint looked over at him from where he was, huddled in a tight ball, the thin blanket not doing well to keep the cold out. "She is still back at home."

"So you left your home?" Clint asked a little too bluntly. Pietro nodded anyway, seeming at ease with telling Clint the reasons for why he was now travelling with the other homeless.

"The conditions - I could not stay there. Wanda - moya sestra - she couldn't leave. Was too terrified to, I think. She told me I could go; try and live a life that was better than that, but I have evidently failed. I sometimes regret not going back to her, but I cannot go back," Pietro said, his voice steadily getting heavier with emotions Clint knew would tip Pietro over and let him become a crying mess.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Clint reassured him before deciding to reach out and offer his hand as some form of physical comfort.

He was surprised when Pietro took him up on that offer.

Pietro's hand was warm and shook slightly. His palms were calloused and roughened at the edges.

"I had a wife and kids," Clint offered up. Pietro looked over at him, eyebrow raised. He said nothing, so Clint took that as the opportunity to keep speaking. "Shit happened and then the wife wanted a divorce. Obviously I got shit all and ended up homeless about a week or so later. Haven't heard from her about the kids since. I expect she's moved from the house to somewhere else to raise the kids, but I fuckin' miss 'em," Clint admitted, his throat tightening as he was hit with a wave of something that wasn't quite nostalgia. He breathed in and out slowly and deeply. It felt kind of nice to have gotten that out there, that someone had listened to him bitch about stuff.

"Sounds shit," Pietro mumbled and Clint wanted to reprimand him for his language - but that would make him a hypocrite and the thought of Steve hurt almost as bad as it did when he thought of his children.

"It was," Clint said.

And then Pietro was moving closer to him, shifting his belongings and whatever he had used as a bed until he was right next to Clint, their shoulders touching and their breaths mingling. Clint felt shocked to the bone but didn't object. The idea of feeling someone close like this, but no intimacy was kind of a reassurance and something that relieved him.

"My father, he is a shit,"

"Just a shit?"

"More. But he is bad people. Hurt me and my sestra a lot. I had to get away. Wanda said she would cover for me, say something stupid like I had ran away and joined a circus or something, as long as it would get him off my trail," he said and looked up at Clint with those big, wide, unbelievably blue eyes.

"Sounds like your sister is one tough bitch,"

"She is. Tougher than me. She would have figured a way to get off the streets and find our own house and whatever else would be needed. She was smart like that, always thinking of things,"

"Then why didn't she run away with you?"

"Too scared. She had a deep fear of the man we called our father - much more than the one I have. I tried to get her to run away with me, but she couldn't. Not unless someone came and took him away,"

"Man, that sucks,"

"Da,"

They fell into a silence after that. It was somewhat awkward but also wasn't; both of them were thinking about what the other had said, thinking of how the situations could've been made different if the other had been there to stop or alter it.

"Hey, Pietro?" Clint asked after what had been half an hour of silence. By that time, everyone else around them had hunkered down and gone to sleep.

"Hmm?" Pietro's tired hum entered through the silence.

"When we get our shit together - and I mean actually getting our shit together. Up and off the streets, renting our own house and having a job. Me and you - we're gonna go back to your old house and get your sister. I'll even knock your so called father's teeth out while you get her out," Clint said, which had thankfully gotten a laugh out of Pietro.

"Thank you,"

"You're welcome, kid,"

"Old man,"

"I'm not that older,"

"You're like five years older than me - you're old," Pietro argued.

"That's a stupid way to go about things. Just because I'm like five years older than you," Clint muttered.

"How old are you?" Pietro asked, turning his head to look at Clint.

"Thirty-three,"

"Eight years older," Pietro stated. Clint counted back the numbers.

"You're twenty-five?"

"Yeah,"

"You don't have to answer this - but why were you still living with your piss-poor father at that age?"

"We could not leave. He would not let us. We needed time to try and figure out how to get away from him. After the many times we had tried to escape - each time he caught us - we just gave up trying. Let him do whatever because we knew it was pointless," Pietro said with a shrug. Clint sighed and looked over at him and sighed before he shifted and put at arm under Pietro's back and held him in a sort of hug. "What -?"

"You're cold, need warmth." Clint murmured and bit back the smile as Pietro nodded and huddled up into a ball, his arms around Clint as his face got buried in Clint's neck. He sighed and shut his eyes, thinking hard and fast.

He would protect this kid, make sure he got back on his feet, get a house and get his sister back, away from the asshole that had tried to ruin their lives. He wasn't sure where this was coming from - maybe because he understood what it was like to have a shit father, and want to run away, but regardless, he would take care of Pietro if it was the last thing he did.

And that thought scared the shit out of him.

But he would stand by it, make sure that Pietro wouldn't get hurt by the homophobic pricks, wouldn't get hurt by any stray homeless that would try and manipulate him. He would do whatever it would take to look after this white haired kid. He could see a bit of himself in Pietro. He could see Pietro could be redeemed, have an actual life with his sister; away from the hurt of their father and away from the bite of being on the streets.

Clint Barton was a human catastrophe, a walking human car crash, but when he got his mind set on something, he would see it through to the very end.


	4. Chapter 4

When Clint woke up the next morning, Pietro was still huddled up in his arms. His weight and heat were solid and comforting to Clint and he wouldn't mind if he could stay like that for ever. The two of them were covered in grease, dirt and other unhygienic things. They needed to find a place to shower soon. They could cope with the feel of being dirty; it happened often and you would soon get used to it. It was the smell that was never good. They would smell badly after so long and would need to wash to get rid of the smell, of the layers of dirt and grime and whatever else that covered them.

He wasn't sure when they would find the time or place to shower, but he knew they would often go for weeks without them. They'd just have to power through.

"Sorry," Pietro said when Clint sat up. Clint frowned.

"Hell you sayin' sorry for?"

"Sleeping on you like that. Is not right,"

"Doesn't matter, kid. We need warmth to survive, so doing the cuddling up shit doesn't matter. Survival is priority," Clint said, ignoring the thoughts in his head.

"It was no bother?"

"Not at all. If you're ever cold like that you can sleep with me again," Clint said, then saw the way Pietro's face brightened as he smiled up at Clint.

And so the days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months and none of them were sure for just how long Pietro had joined their ranks. They had accepted him with open arms, let him get close to Clint. Clint didn't appear to mind.

The two of them spent many nights huddled together _for warmth Barbara, stop being so quick on the draw_.

A few people had come and gone, passing through, finding a place to stay for a few nights before moving.

The winter had been the worst they had to endure. They had all ended up close together, bodies pressed close around the poor fire as they tried to keep the warmth in.

Those times had been hard.

Now, they were in an abandoned building complex, the feel of the warm spring air filtering through the boards over the broken windows. Clint and Pietro were dressed in raggy shorts and old tank tops with multiple holes in them. Clint had gotten the clothes for them and Pietro didn't bother to ask where he got them from.

"There's a heat wave coming through over the next few days. How much water do we have left?" Barbara asked, peering over at the dozen or so bottles that they had that usually stored water in them.

"Not much," Pietro answered, running a hand through his greasy hair. He internally cringed at the feel of his hair in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper shower. He and the others smelt bad; no wonder people avoided the homeless like the plague. "We should go and get some more,"

"That can be yours and Clint's jobs. Go down to the park, there's a water fountain or two there," one of the other elderly women - Susan - told them. Barbara nodded her agreements and the two men got the bottles and took the nearest plastic bag and put them in. "We'll sort out food and who'll be going out scrounging for money," Susan added and Clint nodded before he took hold of Pietro's forearm and dragged him out of the room.

"There is going to be people at the park," Pietro said, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he and Clint walked.

"I'll protect you," Clint said, sending Pietro a quick grin. Pietro rolled his eyes. "We'll be as quick as we can and we can make sure people won't follow us. If anyone comes, I'll beat them up,"

"But you are old man. You could get hurt, yes?" Pietro asked. "I do not want you hurt because of me,"

Clint looked over at him, seeing the genuine worry in the younger man's face. "I'll be fine," he reassured him. "Promise."

The two continued to walk and Clint realised he had ended up holding Pietro's hand. He risked a glance over at Pietro, who didn't seem to mind, so he said nothing and continued to look ahead, moving through the sea of people towards the park. Pietro ended up pressed up against his side, trying to keep as close to Clint as possible. Clint didn't say anything, instead squeezing Pietro's hand in reassurance. Pietro returned the gesture, and then pressed himself even closer.

"People are looking at us," Pietro murmured into Clint's ear.

"We stand out a bit as homeless. We might not smell that good either so it's not really surprising. Just stay close to me and don't look anyone in the eye; just keep looking forward and they'll not say anything and part like the Red Sea." Clint informed him and Pietro nodded.

They managed to get to the park in one piece and got to the water fountain safely too. There was a bit of a queue to get to the water fountain, but people quickly dispersed when they saw Clint and Pietro. Maybe they had been intimidated by the fact that they looked grubby and homeless and potentially dangerous or maybe it was because they were sweaty and dirty and stunk. Whatever, as long as they got their water, they didn't give a shit.

They filled up their water bottles with relative ease, putting them back in the plastic bags and kept glancing around, worried someone would steal them or something. You could never tell with people.

"I don't feel safe here," Pietro admitted in a low voice and Clint saw the way his hands shook as he held the bottle to the small fountain thing.

"I know how you feel. We should get out of here as quickly as possible." Clint said and Pietro nodded. Clint silently prayed the water to hurry up, to fill up their bottles quicker, but instead it felt like it was slowing down, just to fuck with them.

After what felt like an eternity, they had filled up their water bottles and packed them up and made their way to leave the park. They walked back down the streets they had come from, had managed to get pretty far, but neither could get rid of the uneasy feeling that had made a home in their guts. It wasn't until Pietro got yanked into an alley did the worry explode inside Clint, freezing him in his place.

He heard Pietro yelling, a mix of his native tongue and broken English did he surge into motion. He abandoned the bag and ran in after them and saw the familiar faces of the pricks that had been making jives at Pietro.

What the fuck? Clint thought before he shoulder barged one and turned and kicked another in the stomach. Have they been trailing us since the fire?

Pietro tried to yell his name, but it came out all muffled and broken and Clint tried to continue and fight them, using moves he learnt from Natasha and Steve and he tried to pointedly ignore the ache that swelled in his chest as they flashed in his mind before he continued to fight the bastards that had dared to try and hurt Pietro.

He wasn't sure what he did, he just did it; flipped them over his shoulder, twisted their arms and hit them in their guts, forcing the wind out of them -

"CLINT, MOVE!" Pietro screamed, but it was too late.

He felt the metal slip into his side, sink into him and find a home just like the worry had. Only it hurt more. He felt everything slow down around him, everything sounding muffled and distorted, like he was under water or had cotton shoved in his ears. He wasn't entirely sure. But then the white hot pain erupted in his side and he let out a wet gasp, legs buckling from underneath him.

Clint's vision went blurry as his head connected with the rough floor, hand going numbly to the knife buried deep in his side. He felt his body wishing to curl up, almost did it, but he forced himself to stay still, not wanting to risk his wound becoming worse. He saw blurry legs moving in front of him, but the tears were stinging painfully in his eyes, but were nothing in comparison to the pain surging in his side.

And then Pietro's face was in front of his and he could feel a pair of hands around his on his wound. Pietro was saying something to him but he wasn't too sure what he was saying; everything sounded so incoherent and he felt something uneasy settle in his stomach when he realised he wanted to know what Pietro was saying, what he would mean behind those words. Clint realised he wished he could hear Pietro's voice one last time before he inevitably died. There was no way he would survive from this, no way.

Pietro said something to him that sounded vaguely like 'do not leave me, please,' but he couldn't help it; black spots were appearing in front of his eyes and his eyes were becoming too heavy and the wound was causing so much pain that he couldn't help that he closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him.

Clint tried; he had saved Pietro, somewhat made sure he wouldn't be hurt, had got himself hurt instead, but he was an old man and Pietro was young and deserved a life. Clint had lived his life, it may have gone a little downhill near the end, but he had met Pietro, so he guessed it had its plusses. He just wished he could have seen the others one final time, but they probably forgot about him, forgot what Clint had looked like, what he used to do with them. The pain of losing them had hurt, but he guessed Barbara and the others he had begun to live with had sort of filled that void they had ripped open in him.

And then Pietro came along and filled something in him he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't sure as to what Pietro had filled, but he had been so damn happy that he had been there, if only for a short while.

Now he was leaving them. The guilt tore him apart almost as easily as that knife had.

He'd fucked up.

He wished he had known Pietro for longer, had been able to look out for Pietro for longer, but then again this was Clint Barton and life and the universe seemed to hate him and had dragged Pietro into his life and had made him feel weird about Pietro and want to protect him and make sure he would be able to go and see his sister again and make sure they would both be able to live together and away from their asshole of a father.

But instead he had failed and he was sure this was the end, that this was the end of his line and he was leaving Pietro before his own stop. And he felt horrible for doing that to him.

Clint really hoped Pietro would be able to see his sister again and be able to live his life with her and be happy.


	5. Chapter 5

"Pietro, you should go outside, it's not healthy," Barbara said softly, putting a gentle, wrinkled hand on his shoulder. He bit his lip and shook his head.

"I cannot." he said firmly, eyes glazed over with something Barbara admired.

Barbara sighed, looking down at Clint's body, covered in an old blanket and Pietro, who was sat beside him. "You should, Pietro. He wouldn't want you to be like this; it's not healthy," she repeated.

Pietro looked over at her. "He saved my life. I cannot leave - I - I do not know. I cannot understand what it is, and I cannot explain it."

"It's alright, honey. The English language probably doesn't have a word for what you're feeling." she said, her grip on his shoulder reassuring. He nodded his silent thanks before she turned and left, letting Pietro sit there beside Clint, mind full of worry as he kept his eyes on Clint's unconscious state.

Time passed in agonisingly slow seconds and Pietro felt like he was going to be driven insane. He still waited; he would borrow a book from Barbara or one of the others and read it out to Clint's still form.

It was terrifying and painful to see how very little Clint was reacting. Pietro had to keep reminding himself that Clint was still alive, even if he didn't look it. The others didn't say anything to or about Pietro; they didn't comment on how he was so dependent on Clint waking up, or how he was losing weight from lack of eating. (True they were all losing weight from that, but they still managed to scrounge some money up for food.)

His life was revolving around Clint, making sure Clint wouldn't be hurt, and yet he couldn't stop himself. He had to check that Clint's stolen drip was going to keep him alive, that his pulse was steady and that his body was going to continue fixing itself as Pietro tried to give him his vitamins in alternate ways. He knew he had to prepare himself in case anything happened to Clint whilst he wasn't looking.

He couldn't let Clint die, not after he had so foolishly put himself on the line for Pietro. If Pietro was to at least try and repay him for what he had so stupidly done. Pietro felt the rage within him building up again as he remembered how he saw the man take out the knife, hadn't reacted quick enough to save Clint. No matter what, he knew it was his fault that Clint had been hurt, that he was so damaged like that because it was him that had caused it. If only he had been aware of his surroundings, aware of how it had been too peaceful and calm.

Pietro really should have realised that it was going to be a matter of time before something like that happened. For a brief moment, he had considered leaving; making sure that Clint wouldn't be ruined by his presence, but he couldn't find it in him to leave the older man; how could he? After all, Clint had done everything for Pietro, and had promised so much, that they would be able to find Wanda and live a happy life after everything.

"You look like shit."

Pietro jumped a mile into the air. He looked at Clint, unable to stop the massive grin that spread over his face. "You're awake!"

"Of course I am, what with you babbling on in Russian," he said, nodding towards the book Pietro had in his hands. Pietro blushed a little. "It's fine, was nice to wake up to some nice Russian instead of some angry mobster Russian."

He couldn't help but smile down at Clint. "And how many times have you had to endure angry mobster Russian?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Clint flashed him a smile, surprising Pietro when he reached out to take hold of Pietro's hand.

"Enough times to know the slight differences between normal Russian and angry Russian."

"You are an idiot." Pietro said, the smile on his face wide and true. "How is your wound?"

Clint shrugged. "It's fine. Hurts a little, but I'm glad it's not worse. Who patched me up?"

"Me and Barbara," Pietro answered honestly and Clint raised an eyebrow. "You didn't see that coming?" he asked, the words flowing off his tongue with ease.

"Kid, you never fail to surprise me."

"I will surprise you again - I am not a kid."

Clint rolled his eyes, his grip on Pietro's hand tightening. "Yeah, yeah, sure you're not."

Pietro stuck his tongue out at him, albeit childishly. "You are a jerk."

"Bitch."

Silence fell between them, the only sounds that broke it were their breathing and the sound of movement from the others downstairs. They could hear Susan and Barbara talking indistinctly and Pietro briefly wondered what they were talking about, but decided he was content to sit beside Clint, happy with holding his hand.

"Pietro?"

"Da?"

Clint shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I - uh - I don't know how to say this," he laughed awkwardly and Pietro smiled slightly. Pietro felt the pressure on his hand tighten again and Pietro moved before he could think.

His mouth was pressed against Clint's softly, cutting off whatever Clint had been trying to say. Pietro felt Clint's free hand go into his dirty hair, keeping him close. Far too soon for either of their liking, Pietro pulled away from him, resting his forehead on Clint's. He didn't care how awkwardly he was sitting, leaning over Clint, careful of his wound.

"I think that got rid of some of the tension that had been between us," Clint said, sounding too breathless to be good.

"Only some?" Pietro asked and Clint breathed out a laugh.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, kid." he said and winced again.

"What is wrong?" Pietro said as he pulled away from Clint.

He pointed to the wound and Pietro knelt down, hands going to the wound tentatively, looking at Clint worriedly. Clint nodded, hands clenching in preparation before Pietro pulled the bandage off gently, only to reveal the stitches he and Barbara had done, and saw the discolouring of the wound.

"Infected. I'm sorry." he said and Clint's eyes widened. "Sorry, I just have to try and steal some medicine to make sure the infection will go away and it will recover properly."

Clint groaned loudly. "You scared the absolute shit out of me." he said, shutting his eyes as he tilted his head back. "I thought you meant I was going to die."

"You will not die any time soon, but I should go and steal some medicine so that it will not get worse," he said, shrugging his shoulder as he took off the bandage and put on a new one for him. "Do not worry," he continued, when he finished up and looked over at Clint. "I stole the other medical things for you and did not get caught. I will be fine." he said, giving Clint a smile.

The older man sighed, moving his hand over to Pietro's head, pushing his fingers through Pietro's hair. "I can't stop you, but all I can tell you is to be careful. I don't want you to get caught or do something. You shouldn't get caught for thieving just for me."

"Clint. You are a fucking idiot. I do not want to see you get hurt, not after everything that had happened." he said, resting his head on Clint's makeshift bed, eyes on Clint's face. "I want you to get better, and if that means I will have to steal the things that will make you better," he shrugged his shoulders. "then so be it."

"You're a fool."

"Maybe so, but because you need to get better. I will fix things," he said. "I will make sure who did this to you will pay and then we can figure everything out from there, yes?"

Clint smiled, tired but real. "Yes. That sounds good. One step at a time, right?"

 **[Apologies on how short these chapters are and how sporadic they come in updates. I am more active on Archive of our Own (AO3) so check that out to see my more loved fics since I leave this for a few months at a time between updates.]**


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